


For Those Who Scream in the Dark

by MayMarlow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Abuse, Gen, Mentioned Cannibalism, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-21 00:59:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12445904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayMarlow/pseuds/MayMarlow
Summary: The corners are dark, and he's hungry.





	For Those Who Scream in the Dark

He was six, in a cupboard that felt too small to let him breathe and too big to bare what the corners hid in the dark. And oh, boy, he knew they hid things.

When he’s curled on his cot, wrapped in a thin blanket he knew better than to take for granted, he could feel cold fingertips touching his bare ankles at night. Sometimes he’d wake up before the clock struck three at night, something tugging sharply at his hair and gnawing at his nails, an unknown mouth wetting his fingertips.

And sometimes, a whisper of a wind would emerge from the darkness, with teeth sharp as razors, and he’d know in that moment that an old woman two streets down had died, and that the boy with the red cap from his class had just been pulled into a car that wasn’t his father’s, and that the cat Dudley and his friends had been kicking during the day had just bled to death in a ditch.

He was six, and he was terrified.

*

He was eight, and his bones ached with the cold that only left his cupboard when sweltering heat of the summer days invaded every corner of the whole house. His aunt hadn’t given him any food since the morning’s plateful of carrots and midday’s glass of water.

The things in the dark peeled strips off his back and fed him mouthfuls of blood that tasted too strong to be his own. The plastic toy soldiers he had stolen from Dudley were chewed to misshapen lumps, and the hole in his stomach was screaming.

He’d do _anything_ to get something else.

The things in the dark laugh, because it’s funny when it hurts.

*

He was ten when his hunger wrung the neck of a rat and ate whatever is dug from beneath its skin. The voices in the dark smacked their invisible lips, and he heard a baby cry a thousand miles away. He thought of pudgy arms and more meat, and someone else’s misery.

Life hadn’t changed for him at home, but he had managed to learn a thing or two. Poor people like him weren’t liked, but he knew that Betty in his class was liked even less because she was fat. People with ugly clothes weren’t liked, but Zaman in his class was liked even less because his parents had come from Pakistan. Withdrawn people like him weren’t liked, but Jeff in his class was liked even less because everyone knew he had two mums.

Dudley, who kicked cats until they died, was a sweetheart. Piers, who had once broken Harry’s arm and would, even now, always aim at that arm with his punches, was a good bloke. The teachers that looked the other way were good, hard-working people.

Betty was a fat girl who took a lot of space. Zaman had parents who weren’t just from Pakistan, but also Muslim. Jeff’s mum had married another woman and nobody even knew who his dad was. Nobody cared when Zaman stopped coming to school, or when Betty stopped eating, or when Jeff stopped breathing.

He decided he didn’t like good, hard-working people.

*

He was eleven, and the letter he had gotten reminded him that his name was Harry Potter.

*

He knew now that if he combed his hair and stole better clothes for himself, the world would treat him better. He knew that if he brushed his teeth and smiled, the world would think him a better person. He knew that what wasn’t his could still be, if he took it and didn’t wait for the world to give it to him.

He knew that the dark corners in his cupboard were full of promises, and doorways to other dark corners.

The claws were his own, silent steps climbing up walls far away from Surrey, above beds of people he had never seen before. Their throats hard to pierce through, but hearts eventually reachable if he dug far enough, their screams barely a whisper muffled by shadows that cackled as they bit away their lips.

*

He was eleven, and the letter told him he was a wizard.

*

The world became a bigger place, but the people didn't change. Those who hated him, hated him for all the wrong reasons. But those who saw his smiles and liked his bright green eyes and his blessed brave little heart really, really _loved_ him. The scar on his forehead was a ticket carved into his skin, a staircase to a world so bright it blinded the best of people, yet not bright enough to chase away a shred of darkness from his corners.

Before Christmas, he knew that wizards screamed too.

*

He wasn't twelve yet, but he knew that people would always, _always_ scream in the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a break from my thesis, and sat down to write this. Yes, it has typos. I literally wrote this in 15 minutes and decided to post it right away.


End file.
